


A Mating of Convenience

by Boton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Cave Men, Clan of the Cave Bear - Freeform, M/M, Mating, Please read original story, Stone Age, mating ceremonies, please read author's notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boton/pseuds/Boton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Obsidian Anniversary by SwissMiss, a tale of how cave-Sherlock and cave-John became mates to save John from near certain death.  </p><p>(Please read the original first for an awesome fic, and then the author's notes to see what sort of craziness Boton is up to!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mating of Convenience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SwissMiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwissMiss/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Obsidian Anniversary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857144) by [SwissMiss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwissMiss/pseuds/SwissMiss). 



> Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and his universe are the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock is the creation of the BBC and its partners, and of co-creators Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. Clan of the Cave Bear is the creation of Jean Auel. This work is for my pleasure and that of my readers; I am not profiting from the intellectual property of those creators listed above.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> (Long author’s note is long.)
> 
> First, if you’ve come here looking for the usual Boton absolute adherence to canon as we see it on the screen, turn back now. When I go AU, I really go AU! But I hope you take a chance on seeing why this particular AU has so grabbed my attention. I promise I’ll be back to canon compliance soon.
> 
> Second, this story is based on the fantastic “Obsidian Anniversary” by SwissMiss. If you haven’t read it yet, you need to go do so right now. First, because it’s awesome, and second, because my fic is going to seem positively delusional if you read it without her fic first. Take some time to read the discussions in the comments, too (and leave kudos while you are there).
> 
> Basically, SwissMiss has done the impossible – or at least the improbable, like a good Sherlockian. She’s managed to fuse BBC Sherlock with Clan of the Cave Bear in a way that allows our characters to feel completely plausible and true to life. Since one of my pet fantasies is that the Holmes/Watson relationship exists in every time period and in every type of human living situation, this was right up my alley.
> 
> But even more amazing, she created a universe in which I, your friendly neighborhood Johnlock-denier, could actually see a circumstance in which the two men could slowly become each other’s entire world, with whatever that might mean for human needs and desires.
> 
> So, finally, third: Take one part lifelong fascination with Clan of the Cave Bear, one part current fascination with Sherlock, and a little encouragement from SwissMiss, and you have this fic. I’ve marked it as a Sherlock/John pairing because, after all, it’s about their mating. But, as you will see if you’ve gotten this far and are brave enough to continue, the two are still very much in a platonic relationship of convenience at this point. There’s no explicit content, and you can cheerfully imagine our boys remaining in separate sleeping furs long after this point if you so desire.  
> (And if SwissMiss ever writes this scene herself, you should disregard this one and take the creator of this AU at her word!)

John watched from his sleeping furs as the men of the clan walked to the back of the cave, entering one by one into the small subcave attached to the main area that they used for their rituals and regular meetings of the men. He knew they were gathering to talk about him; it couldn’t be anything else.

Just ten sunsets ago, Sherlock had found John wandering, fevered and delirious from a cave lion wound to his shoulder, and taken him back to his cave for care. If Sherlock hadn’t done so, John would have died, he knew. His own cave had been destroyed, taking his own mate and child with it; it was only luck that John had woken early that day and journeyed outside to indulge in a little quiet time before his clan woke and began its daily activities.

The fact that he was alive he owed to Sherlock, this intense, enigmatic man who had taken him in and nursed him through the first stages of his recovery. But John was weak, hardly able to stand on his own and still sleeping many hours a day. His wound was in his spear arm, making him useless as a hunter now and likely in the future. And he was sure that this was the topic of conversation in the small cave to the rear.

Like it or not, a clan was run by a cruel calculus of what was best for the whole. While clan members certainly loved and protected one another and were more or less attached to certain individuals, the clan as an entity had to look to its greater good in order to survive. The presence of one extra non-contributing mouth to feed in the upcoming months of snow could mean that a nursing mother didn’t have enough resources to care for her child, a child that could grow to become a prolific hunter or a talented medicine woman in years to come. To expect the clan to take John in, a man not even from their own clan, one who could not hunt and could not contribute, would strain the clan’s resources. John understood that he was about to be asked to leave; his own clan would have done the same. 

Likely, the departure would mean his death, but John was accepting of this. He should have died with the rest of his own clan; the past few days had been an unexpected gift. He had nowhere to go. Mary’s home clan would be unlikely to take him in, for the same reasons that this one would not, and journeying to them with the news of her death would only bring them heartache. His only kin, his sister Harry, was equally unlikely to offer refuge in her new clan with her mate, even if he were able to make the long journey alone before the time of snows set in. He would die, he knew, but there was part of him that still repeated “let me live” even as he waited for the men to return.

***  
In the small chamber in the rear of the cave, the clan chief Mycroft held the speaking skull and gestured for attention. The men of the cave were restless, agitated. They knew the subject they had been called to discuss, and it was on every pair of lips as the men debated among themselves.

Raising the skull for attention, Mycroft began. “Men of the cave. We have met to discuss the fate of a stranger. My brother,” here Mycroft nodded Sherlock’s direction, “has rescued a hunter from another clan and offered him refuge in our walls. He is not one of ours, but our traditions allow us to offer help when it is needed. We have done so.”

Continuing, Mycroft repeated the facts that all of the men had witnessed. “The man has recovered. He is sitting, eating, and his wounds are healing. At this point, our traditions demand that we return him to his own clan.”

Mycroft nodded at Sherlock and rose to pass the speaking skull across the circle to him. Sherlock stood, creating an impression with his lean, athletic frame in its leather tunic and breeches, his tumble of dark curls restrained at the nape of his neck with a leather thong, and his lightning-colored eyes flashing with intensity. Some said those eyes were a reminder of the terrible storm that had attended the night of his birth; others speculated that that very storm had touched Sherlock with his extraordinary powers of understanding, cataloguing, and analyzing the world around him in ways that others could not. If he had an opinion on his talents, Sherlock did not share it, choosing to cultivate the mystery that surrounded him.

“The man, John, has indeed recovered partially from his wounds,” Sherlock began. “But he is weak, and his clan’s cave has been destroyed. He has nowhere to go. If we ask him to leave, he will surely die. I am asking the clan to offer John a home with us.”

Although the request was expected, it didn’t stop the men from muttering amongst themselves, somewhat shocked that Sherlock would make the request to the group after all. Lestrade, the oldest and most respected of all the hunters, gestured to Sherlock for the speaking skull, which Sherlock passed to him. The group quieted; Lestrade was respected among all the men but especially among the younger hunters, who would listen to him when the leader Mycroft seemed too remote and mysterious. What Lestrade would say now would carry weight among the group.

“Sherlock, our clan has no tradition for taking in a wounded man and making him one of us. And John is not even able to hunt; how would he contribute to our clan?”

Sherlock sat and leaned forward toward Lestrade. “He may not be able to hunt, but the man is intelligent. He has already demonstrated an understanding of my work; he will prove an able assistant, if not more.”

Lestrade chuckled. “But Sherlock, even though it’s unexpected to find someone who can understand you, that’s not enough to offer him a share of our resources. Our clan is growing; we might expect as many as three new children before the time of snows is over, if all goes well, and these babes need our resources far before a man who might never again make a hunt.”

“We’ve done it before,” Sherlock argued, voice rising. “Turner was not of this clan, and he was accepted as one of us.”

“Yes,” Lestrade said, “but Turner’s mate was one of us. They chose to live here after their mating, and he was a valuable hunter for many years after he joined us.”

“So, if John were to have a mate who was a member of our clan, he would be accepted,” Sherlock concluded.

Mycroft intervened smoothly, “Yes, Sherlock, if John were mated to someone from our clan, we would care for him as our own. But no woman would voluntarily be mated to an injured hunter, and I will not permit such a mating to occur. Besides, a woman does not have independent resources; the best the pair could do, with John unable to provide for his own hearth, is to throw themselves on the mercy of the clan.”

“But if John were mated to someone with their own resources, that person could provide for him,” Sherlock continued, undeterred.

“Yes, but we’ve just said that can’t happen,” Anderson blurted, heedless of the speaking skull. “The man has to go.”

“I will mate him,” Sherlock declared, ignoring Anderson’s outburst.

“Sherlock, you know that won’t work,” Lestrade said, passing the speaking skull to Mycroft for a pronouncement as the small gathering erupted in side conversation.

Mycroft held the skull until silence descended again, the group on edge waiting to hear what the leader would say to this preposterous suggestion. Sherlock stood again, face to face with his brother, interrupting when the leader would speak.

“Mycroft, you know it’s true. For John to stay with us, the only way according to our traditions is for him to be mated to someone with resources to share. I am an unmated man with my own resources and skills and with a fair claim to the shared resources of the clan. According to our traditions, I may mate who I choose, with the leader’s permission.” With this, he sat, uncharacteristically submissive to Mycroft, waiting for his brother’s pronouncement as leader.

Mycroft continued as if the protocol of the meeting had not been broken several times already. “Sherlock, your interpretation of our traditions is technically true,” he said as Sherlock preened slightly under the praise. “But you are a young, healthy man. You might expect to bring a woman to your hearth and raise several sons of your essence. To do this would likely eliminate those options in the future.”

Sherlock looked at his brother and said softly, “Mycroft. You know that those parts of life have held very little interest for me. I much prefer the work I do for this clan and the improvements I can make to our tools and weapons and our way of life. Giving up dreams of a full hearth is not a sacrifice for me,” he said, shaking his head.

“But brother, I implore you. I don’t want this man – John – to go. I’m willing to share what I have with him.”

Again, Anderson made a scoffing noise, while Mycroft leaned back, eyes hooded in consideration.

“Please, brother,” Sherlock said again. “Don’t send John to his death. Let me do this.”

“Very well,” Mycroft conceded with a sigh. “I will allow it.”

“I won’t support this,” Anderson exclaimed as the men broke out in open conversation, the meeting adjourned. “I will not be part of the clan that has the two mated men.”

“That is as you wish,” Mycroft said smoothly. “But my decision is final,” he added, leaving Anderson gaping at his retreat.

Mycroft caught up with Sherlock as the men streamed from the chamber. “Brother, I have decided in your favor, because you are right about our traditions,” he began. “But do what you’re going to do quickly; the clan will not handle being unsettled for long, and opinion will soon turn against you.”

Sherlock nodded quickly, then turned to Lestrade. “We’ll do it now,” he said. “Lestrade, will you join John and I shortly at the common hearth?”

***  
John saw Sherlock striding back to the hearth purposefully, his jaw set in determination. John had resolved to make this easy for the man who had saved his life, so he began speaking as soon as Sherlock crossed the boundary stones.

“Look, Sherlock, I know what happened, and I understand. I’ll go without a fight. You’ve already given me so much; I shouldn’t ask for more, but if I could somehow take a blade and a bit of food with me, I’ll leave first thing tomorrow when it’s light. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I’ll think of you for the rest of my days,” John said quickly, trying not to think about how short his days were likely to be.

Sherlock ignored John’s babbling, taking him instead by the shoulders with both hands and saying urgently. “John, this is important. Will you consent to become my mate?”

“Wha- Sherlock, what are you saying?” John foundered, trying to process what the dark-haired man was proposing.

“Do keep up, John,” Sherlock said with exasperation. “You can stay, but only if you are mated to someone who has his own resources. I am that person. So, for you to stay, you have only to consent to mate me. So, do you consent?”

“Sherlock, we can’t mate. We’re both men. I had a mate, Mary; we had a child together, and a hearth, and a life. This isn’t that,” John said, trying to explain to Sherlock what seemed to be obvious to anyone but him.

“Yes, yes, I know we’re both men; I know this isn’t the same thing you had with Mary,” Sherlock said dismissively. “This is so you can stay. That’s all. Nothing will change except you will stay here and continue to recover. I can protect you, but this is the only way.”

John looked speculatively at Sherlock. His life had been surreal since the destruction of his cave and the attack by the lion; this just seemed one more surreal event taking place just slightly out of his own control. 

He took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock, still holding him by the shoulders. “OK,” was his only reply.

***

Minutes later, Sherlock had assisted John to a standing position and was helping him walk slowly down the center path of the cave toward the common hearth, where Lestrade stood waiting for them. As the senior hunter, matters of execution of clan law often fell to him, even though the pronouncements came from Mycroft. With a better memory for detail than many of his peers, Lestrade was a natural choice to lead ceremonies that marked the phases of life for the clan, including namings, manhood ceremonies, celebrations of first hunts, and burials of the dead.

When Sherlock and John finally made it to the common hearth, a crowd had gathered, every member of the clan eager to see this odd event that all had heard about by now. Lestrade cleared his throat and the crowd fell silent; he still held the speaking skull in his hands.

“Members of the clan. We are here to witness the mating of Sherlock and John to form a new hearth. Anyone with objections should speak now.”

Lestrade looked pointedly at Anderson, who muttered, “I’ve said my bit,” but refused to leave. Sally, however, bumped her youngest higher on her hip and said, “freaks,” before turning and going back to her own hearth.

Lestrade looked over the crowd once again, some with expressions of curiosity, others with contempt, but none willing to voice an objection. His eyes returned to Sherlock.

Sherlock had let John go to stand on his own but offered his hand, palm up, for John to take. John did so part out of the need for physical support, but part out of the realization that this was part of the form of the ceremony. If they were to be mated, even on technicality, they needed to make it as official as possible.

“Sherlock, brother of Mycroft, son of the clan,” Lestrade said, “Will you take John as your mate? Will you provide for him, protect him, and share your hearth with him as long as your days shall last?”

“I will,” Sherlock said, looking ahead at Lestrade and away from the tittering crowd.

Lestrade continued: “John, brother of Harry, son of others, will you take Sherlock as your mate? Will you follow him, obey him, and share your hearth with him as long as your days shall last?”

“I will,” said John. Unbidden, thoughts of Mary crept to the surface, and to their mating when the leaves were still small on the trees. Mary looked beautiful clutching a spray of budding flowers, and John was so excited to be taking her to his hearth. Could it be that day was just short of two turnings of the seasons ago? How different this was from that mating day.

Lestrade broke through John’s reverie, saying, “In the eyes of the clan, you are now mates. May your days be fruitful and many.”

Finally, Sherlock looked around at the crowd, almost daring anyone to say anything against the unorthodox union. At that moment, John felt his knees start to give way, and he grabbed onto Sherlock’s arm. 

“Just need to sit down for a minute. That was rather a lot of excitement all at once,” he said with a chuckle as Sherlock wrapped his long arm around John’s waist and started to help him back to their hearth. Once there, Sherlock helped John gently down into his sleeping furs, John aware that all eyes in the cave were still upon them.

“Well, that should give people something to talk about,” John laughed, a little breathlessly.

“People do little else,” Sherlock said, dismissively. “Now, John, you rest. Can I get you some willow bark tea?”

John nodded as Sherlock filled a stone bowl with water, then nestled the bowl in their fire and began adding hot stones to it to bring it to boil.

Just then, Hudson’s mate came bustling into their hearth; she seemed to be the only one that Sherlock welcomed easily into his living space. She knelt down beside Sherlock and began unpacking some already-prepared food and helping Sherlock place it into individual bowls and containers.

“I thought I’d bring you something for your evening meal, since this is a celebration,” she said, love in her eyes for Sherlock. Sherlock smiled warmly at her. “I knew I could depend on you,” Sherlock said to her, his tone thanking her for more than just the meal.

“Just this once,” Hudson’s mate admonished before she swept up her carrying dishes and left the men to their hearth.


End file.
